


it's safe to fall (if you just trust the ground)

by iamnotalizard



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Enemies to Lovers, Espionage, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotalizard/pseuds/iamnotalizard
Summary: Sokka is as beautiful as he is talented, and more than anything Zuko wants to stand up and walk over, sit close to him and take him all in. He wants to remove Sokka’s sunglasses and his own and he wants to look him in the eyes. He wants to be close enough that he can feel and touch and know.But Zuko knows he can't.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 266





	it's safe to fall (if you just trust the ground)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to @meteor-sword/@vaenire (on tumblr and ao3) for beta reading this !!

Zuko doesn’t need to pull the photo out of his jacket’s inner pocket to compare the man across the train terminal with the face of his mark. He’s studied the photo long enough, along with all the other surveillance that he could acquire. He knows the gait of the man’s walk, the swing of his arms, the curve of his nose from any angle. He carries a green shoulder bag, just like Zuko’s intel said he would be. 

Zuko still pulls his sunglasses down slightly, watching the man as he walks through the crowded lobby. The man looks around, subtle as can be, eyes darting every direction before he seems satisfied that he isn’t being tailed, and begins walking with more confidence and speed. Zuko could almost laugh. 

He pushes his sunglasses up his nose and stands from the bench he was sitting at. Weaving between bustling families and confused tourists, Zuko manages to outpace the man’s fake-casual walk, and ducks behind a leafy wall of tall potted plants. He tracks the man’s movement with his eyes as he skillfully pulls a tracker out of the lining of his jacket. He has more than one, of course, but he knows if this spy is worth his salt, he’ll notice after the first attempt. 

Zuko eyes the crowd, the dozens of feet that form the stomping barrier between him and his target, he watches as the man comes closer, closer, just a bit closer…

Zuko snaps his wrist, watching intently as the tiny tracker clatters as it rolls across the linoleum, narrowly avoiding sneakers and suitcase wheels. Perfectly timed, Zuko’s mark meets the rolling tracker halfway, stepping on the thin plastic and metal and embedding it into the sole of his shoe. Zuko leans further into the green of the leaves for a minute, watching to see if the man’s pace falters or if he notices the new addition to his person. 

He does not. 

Zuko taps the side of his sunglasses, eye re-focusing on the new information that pops up on the inside of the glass. The walking speed that his mark is moving at, a small trail illuminating on the floor of where he stepped previously, the actual GPS coordinates and altitude of his location. Zuko doesn’t need all of that right now - he taps the side of his glasses a few more times, watching as different information disappears and pops back up until he has just the exact combination that he wants. 

He waits until his target is further away, still visible through the crowd, but with more bodies keeping him from Zuko, before he steps out from behind the plants and follows him. He reaches up and undoes the hair tie that’s keeping his hair in its small top-knot, allowing his hair to fall and cover his ears and eyes, before tying it back into a short ponytail at the base of his neck. It’s not much but it’s surprising how many people equate different hair with a different person. Zuko knows that he’s a hard face to miss - _if_ people actually notice him - so he knows to do everything in his power to utilize any advantages that get given to him. 

Zuko follows his mark as he weaves through the crowds, climbs into a car and speeds off. Zuko isn’t worried about losing him, the tracker has likely embedded itself deep into the sole of the man’s shoe, and unless he notices it and digs it out with a knife, there’s no chance that Zuko will lose his coordinates. He climbs into his waiting car to tail him. After almost twenty minutes of weaving between cars, backtracking, and clever - but rather unoriginal - evasive driving, the man climbs out of his car and walks into the lobby of a high-class hotel. Zuko waits until he’s walked through the revolving doors before he tells his driver to let him climb out too. 

The building is a behemoth - all metal, and finely carved stone, and glass. The lobby is open concept, with a large fountain in the centre and a skylight high above, bathing the room and all its plants and statues in a natural glow. It’s a building for people with too much money, too much power or a terrible combination of both. For a moment Zuko is annoyed that neither he nor his intelligence team guessed that his mark would be staying here before he quashes that down. Annoyance was an unproductive feeling to have. He tries to turn the annoyance to frustration, maybe anger at the incompetence but found it too difficult to do as he focused on scanning the lobby for the tall figure.

He spots the man standing in one of the many glass elevators, his form ascending the many levels, and through the clear barriers, Zuko could see his fingers tapping on a communication device. The door opens and he exits on the seventh floor. Zuko smirks to himself as he strides toward the elevators, taking out his hair tie once again and letting his hair fall freely down his face. The doors of the elevators open, and he pushes the button for the seventh floor, before hitting the ‘close doors’ button. The shining steel doors close, and Zuko is left staring at his own serious expression. 

As the elevator rises, Zuko quickly recites his plan and his options. His mark is dropping off classified intel that Zuko needs, and he likely won’t go down without a fight. Zuko has nothing less than a small arsenal of daggers and knives strapped everywhere on his body and in his bag, as well as his own martial arts training. Even factoring in his disadvantage with depth perception, Zuko knows that his physical capabilities outshine even the most formidable opponents. Coupled with the element of surprise, Zuko tells himself that he’ll be grabbing that green satchel off a corpse in ten minutes, tops, and pushes away any guilty feelings that the thought gives him.

Just as he pushes up his sunglasses, about to tap the sides to get a location on his mark, the metal doors open. Zuko makes to step out before he realizes he’s staring straight at the chin of another passenger. Zuko’s eyes flicker up and he falters, mouth falling slightly open. He didn’t factor this into his plan. 

Zuko was used to looking at photos of his mark from afar, surveillance footage and pictures taken discreetly, but it really doesn’t compare to what he looks like close up. He stands taller than Zuko, broader too, and despite the chisel cut of his cheekbones, there’s a softness to his face. His expression is blank, but at the sight of Zuko’s stunned face, his lips quirk up into an almost smile, and Zuko spies a slight dimple on his dark cheek, a humoured twinkle in his dark eyes. 

All of the photos in the world couldn’t have prepared Zuko for how _pretty_ Sokka Amarok is. 

Zuko stands still, stewing in his own unneeded and newfound attraction and confusion - _how the fuck did his mark see him coming, what’s the new plan now, can he reach any of his weapons before Sokka -_ when Sokka slowly reaches towards him. Zuko’s breath hitches, as Sokka gently puts a hand on his chest. He looks straight into Zuko’s eyes as he reaches into his coat jacket, and as if he knew exactly where it would be - _maybe he did,_ Zuko thinks - he pulls out the photo of himself. 

Sokka flips it around, examines the black and white picture of himself and lets out a little laugh, before reaching into his own inner coat pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

Zuko’s eyebrows furrow as Sokka carefully unfolds it and holds it up. Zuko’s eyes widen again, as he stares at a photo of himself, in the standard black and white, scowling as he walks through the streets of some distant city. Zuko can’t even remember when or where he was when the photo was taken. Was it last week? Last month? Was it before this mission even hit his father’s desk, before Azula turned it down?

Zuko gapes at the photo, eyes flickering back to Sokka. He stands looking at Zuko, still smiling slightly as if this situation is _funny_ in any way. Zuko knows that they’re too close for Zuko to get any hold of a weapon before Sokka knows what’s happening and up close Zuko wonders if maybe he underestimated Sokka’s strength. Just as he’s about to lash out, Sokka moves the photo of himself to the same hand holding the picture of Zuko. He reaches out with his free hand and gently touches Zuko’s chest again, and against his own wishes, Zuko finds himself taking a step back into the elevator. Sokka’s arm then sweeps to the side and presses the button for the ground floor. 

Zuko finds he can’t stop staring at Sokka’s face, at his smooth skin and dark hair, decorated with small braids throughout. Sokka is staring back at him too, and Zuko has just enough self-control to keep himself from blushing. 

Sokka removes his arm from the control panel before reaching up and plucking Zuko’s sunglasses off his face. Zuko can’t find enough air in his lungs to protest at the removal, too focused on the soft slide of skin against his temple.

After a second that lasts a thousand years, Sokka takes a step back, removes all of himself from the elevator and he grins. The elevator doors chime, and as they close, Sokka gives him a slight wave. Zuko is left standing agape as he rides the elevator down and stumbles out into the lobby in a daze. 

He’s never been caught on a mission before, and he certainly isn’t used to seeing his marks _look_ at him unless they’re fighting him or already dead. Still, Zuko knows that the buzz that’s coursing through his veins isn’t just because of the attention in general. 

Zuko walks out of the hotel and keeps walking until he’s a few kilometres away and until his chest and face aren’t tingling. He calls a car to drive him back to his hotel and ignores the questioning glances that his driver gives him.

He files the paperwork that declares his mission a failure, on the grounds of a blown cover. The reprimand sucks, but even through the harsh words, he finds himself thinking of the warm eyes and smiles of the man he was meant to kill. 

The next time Zuko runs into Sokka, they’re technically not meant to be in the same country. According to Zuko’s intel, they’re not even meant to be in the same hemisphere. That doesn’t change the fact that when Zuko looks across the dimly lit, crowded, extravagant ballroom floor, Zuko’s eyes immediately find Sokka’s. 

His mission is already complete, technically. He already grabbed the flash drive that he was after, out of the coat of a rich businessman, and now he’s just waiting for a good opportunity to leave. He isn’t sure why Sokka’s here and he tries desperately to tamp down the part of his brain that wants to know. 

They spent half the night carefully circling one another. Zuko walks around the perimeter of the hotel ballroom, carefully avoiding drunk patrons and busboys who walk a bit too close to him, careful not to lose sight of Sokka. 

Sokka seems to be doing the same thing for him. Vaguely, Zuko knows he should be worried - he knows that Sokka had his picture, which means that his mission was likely the same as Zuko’s. Except that encounter was months ago, and there’s been no attempt at retaliation. Maybe Zuko is stupid for not being more concerned that Sokka is here. 

He’s probably being stupid. 

There’s just something so enticing about him, Zuko thinks, though the words float through his mind distantly and quiet, like a silk scarf getting lost in the wind. The way that he smiled as he waved Zuko goodbye. The way that he let Zuko live when he had ample opportunity to kill him. There was something honourable about that, about the respect he seemed to hold, if not for Zuko as a person then for his abilities as a spy. 

Begrudgingly, Zuko acknowledges that he holds the same respect for Sokka.

The lighting in the ballroom grows dimmer and more yellow. _Mood lighting_ for all the drunk entrepreneurs and senators and billionaires who made their fortune ten generations ago. Zuko scowls at the thought of how many new rich children will come into the world as a result of tonight. The crowd is thinning out, as people go home with one another or as they’re pulled out of the party by concerned friends and drivers. It would be the perfect time to leave, with his cargo safely contained in the compartment of his shoe. 

Zuko glances around once more. Maybe he wants to see Sokka one more time before he leaves. He finds himself shocked to see Sokka calmly walking up to him, weaving through the crowd as he approaches.

At least this is confirmation that Sokka isn’t here to kill him. He’s being much too direct. Even the best killers in the game aren’t bold enough to push their way through a crowd like this. 

He could run, Zuko knows, he _should_ run. He should turn and slink out of the door, hotwire a car, go to the safehouse and call his mission a success. It’s what a good spy would do and regardless of what anyone says, Zuko is a good spy. 

“Hello, Zuko,” Sokka says when he reaches him. 

Zuko scowls. “You say my name as if we’re friends.”

Sokka tilts his head. “All I said was hello.” He laughs a bit. “Spirits, is that the bar for friendship for you? That’s sad, dude.”

Zuko glares. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” They stare at each other for a moment.

“So you’re not here for me?”

“Nope,” Sokka says, cheerfully. “Told my guys over at HQ that my cover was blown and that it would be too risky to try another mission anytime soon.”

“... I said the same thing.”

Sokka hums. “Guess that means neither of us has anything to worry about for the time being.” He plucks two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter, grinning as he does so. He holds one out for Zuko. Zuko looks at it for a moment, before grabbing the one that Sokka was keeping for himself. He laughs at Zuko’s precautions. “That is unless you wanna start something?”

“I’m good,” Zuko replies, eyes flickering back and forth between Sokka, his own glass, and the tangled mess of dancing bodies on the floor. 

“Then let’s celebrate our little unofficial truce.” Sokka holds his glass out slightly. It takes a moment for Zuko to realize what he wants, and he jerks to tap his glass against the side of Sokka’s, hearing the slight _ping_ as they touch. Sokka smiles again and takes a drink. After a few seconds, Zuko follows, feeling the tingle of bubbles against his tongue. 

“We shouldn’t be seen together,” Zuko says after he takes his glass away from his lips. “Regardless of whether or not I’m here to kill you. It’s… in poor taste.” He winces at his own choice of words.

Sokka raises an eyebrow, and wow, he’s still pretty even when he’s unimpressed. “You think that the security cameras in here are still working?”

“... They’re not?”

Sokka snorts. “Of course not, they’ve been disabled the whole night.”

Zuko pales slightly at the thought. Sokka notices and laughs again. “Don’t worry, Zuko. As I said, I’m not here for you. Not that you would have known if I was.” 

His teasing tone annoys Zuko. “Shut up, Sokka,” he hisses, shoving his glass back into Sokka’s hand. “I’m leaving.”

“Goodbye, Zuko.” Sokka grins widely, amused as Zuko turns haughtily to leave. It’s only slightly infuriating. 

Zuko arrives at his safe house twice as late as he was supposed to. He took extra precautions to make sure that no one was tailing him, even though, deep down, he knew that Sokka was telling the truth when he said that he wasn’t after Zuko. He calls in his mission as a success, and the next day he flies back home, USB safely tucked in the lining of his bag. 

He doesn’t tell anyone that Sokka was there. His lips still feel tingly from bubbles days later. 

  
  


Zuko can rationalize that the first time they crossed paths and didn’t come to blows was because it was strategically unbeneficial to both of them. The second time was a coincidence, the by-product of Sokka being overly friendly, Zuko being overcautious, and them being in an environment much too crowded for either of them to deftly make any meaningful moves. 

The third time they cross paths and nothing happens, Zuko can’t even bring himself to make excuses. It’s not much, just a glance as he walks through a bustling street, tailing a woman who will soon be dead when he looks to the side and sees Sokka watching him too. He’s clearly following his own target, though Zuko doesn’t bother trying to figure out which unfortunate busybody it is. Their gazes meet and Sokka gives him a little smirk, raises an eyebrow, and Zuko surprises himself when he smiles back, before a wave of pedestrians separate them and Zuko snaps his neck forward to keep eyes on his own mark. 

Even knowing that Sokka is in the same city as him should be concerning, should be enough to put a call in, to try and find out where he’s staying, to neutralize the threat before he has time to strike. Of course, he doesn’t. He completes the job that he was given and nothing more. 

If he sees another flash of dark skin, or of blue beads nestled between braids, or a playful voice that rings through Zuko’s head for hours after hearing it, he doesn’t tell anyone, and he certainly doesn’t think about it. 

  
  


Sokka knows that he shouldn’t fraternize with enemies spies, knows that he’s barely meant to fraternize with allied spies - if the number of harsh looks he gets when he freely speaks to Suki is anything to go by - yet he can’t help but hope that he’ll run into Zuko every mission he goes on. The fact that they seem to go on missions with similar targets is a bit of a concern, and often he wonders what Ozai is planning. He doesn’t exactly rat Zuko out, doesn’t report outright that he saw Zuko slinking through the same back alleys as Sokka or that they locked eyes across a hotel lobby as they climbed into different elevators. Instead, he points out similarities after the fact, mentioning different algorithms that he’s written and information that everyone already knows, while carefully hiding the knowledge that no one else knows beside a veil of “ _I have a source”._

Sokka is nothing if not a dedicated and skilled professional - he may not be a prodigy like his little sister, he may not be a natural gymnast expert like Aang, hell, he may not even be half the fighter that his dad is, but if he’s one thing he’s a _good_ spy and _good_ fighter. He knows that he’s smart, he’s a strategist after all, and he knows even the smallest amount of intel that he’s been able to glean off his momentary run-ins with Zuko would be a strong asset. If he were able to extrapolate anything worthwhile from it, he might even get a promotion out of it. 

But, Sokka has to admit to himself, just this once he wants to be selfish in a way that he so rarely is allowed to be. He wants to keep this strange, tense relationship that he’s building with Zuko to himself. The fact that there’s been no other explicit attempt on his life makes him think that Zuko feels the same way. Suki raises an eyebrow every time Sokka mentions his mysterious ‘source’ that is giving him the lowdown on enemy targets, even as everyone else scrambles to devise counter plans and theories. 

Sokka knows he’ll have to tell her eventually if she doesn’t figure it out herself. He feels guilty for the deception, even if it’s through omission. He gets assigned a mission and he recognizes the name of the city on the file. He’s handed his target’s daily schedule for the next week and is asked how many days he thinks he’ll need to complete the mission. It only takes Sokka a few minutes of looking through the files to devise a handful of plans. It would take two, maybe three days tops. 

“I need five days,” He tells his handlers. They nod, accepting his word as gospel, because why wouldn’t they? Sokka has always been truthful, always been a hard worker. They book him into a nice hotel, set up safe houses, and wave him off, telling him good luck and that they’ll see him in a week. He tells Katara the gist of his upcoming mission and she whistles. 

“Wow, a week? That’s pretty long for you. You think it’ll be difficult?”

“It might get a little tricky.” The lie curdles in his gut. He didn’t think he’d have to keep his spying from his friends. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

The smile that Katara sends him only makes him feel worse.

  
  
  


It’s five months since the last time Zuko and Sokka exchanged actual words instead of just passing looks when Zuko finds himself in front of the man again. For once, Zuko isn’t actually on a job, is on his home turf, and he certainly doesn’t expect to see Sokka standing in the same art gallery as him. As soon as he sees Sokka’s tall figure, he looks around the room, trying to spot out who Sokka could possibly be after. There are a few mothers with children, university students scribbling in notebooks, a few seniors slowly making their way through the exhibits, the rhythmic _thud thud thud_ of their canes hitting the stone floor, reverberating through the room like a failing heartbeat. 

Zuko isn’t exactly shocked to see that no one else besides him would warrant a visit by Sokka. He doesn’t know if he should be disappointed that their little truce is over or honoured that Sokka came to carry it out himself. 

Sokka strolls over and stands next to him, tilting his head at the painting in front of them. It’s centuries-old, painted on silk, two dragons dancing around each other with flames of all different colours pouring out of their mouths. It’s one of Zuko’s favourite pieces. If he’s going to die, he’s glad that he got to see it one last time. 

“Hello, Sokka,” Zuko says softly, forcing himself to keep staring at the painting in front of them. 

“Hey, Zuko.”

They stand in silence for a minute, Sokka occasionally humming as he tilts his head in another direction, bringing a hand up to his chin as he examines it. 

Zuko clears his throat. “Truce over?”

“What?” Sokka asks, eyes darting around. “Why?”

“... Is that not why you’re here?” The confusion in his voice is palpable. Sokka shakes his head.

“No, no, of course not.” He says it as if the possibility is out of this world, as if Zuko is delusional to even suggest that Sokka’s joking armistice would end. He almost looks offended. 

“Then why are you here?”

“I had business in the city,” Sokka says, his open face contrasting with his curt words. 

“But why are you _here?_ ”

“Oh,” Sokka’s hand lifts to the back of his neck. The skin over his nose and cheeks deepens in colour, his skin too dark to flush pink like Zuko’s. “I heard that you liked to spend time here, so I’d thought I’d check it out.”

For a moment, Zuko thinks he should be concerned over the fact that his habits are so well-known by enemy intelligence agencies. Zuko looks at Sokka for a moment longer, taking in his denim and hoodie-clad figure. He has no bag and his clothes are only baggy enough that if he’s concealing any weapons, they’re probably only as deadly as Zuko’s own hidden armoury. 

“Well,” Zuko says slowly, “How are you liking it so far?”

Soka grins, understanding the olive branch that Zuko has extended for what it is. “It’s really neat! The art style over here is so different than what I’m used to.”

Zuko smiles at Sokka’s excitement. “I’m glad you like it. I’ve loved this place since I was a child.”

“Really, you’ve been coming that long?” Sokka asks as if he doesn’t already know, as if whatever file that has Zuko’s name and photo in it isn’t bursting with all the details of his family life and interests. Though, Zuko will realize later, reading all that on a piece of paper or a glowing computer screen, is nothing compared to hearing it from the smiling lips of the other man. He wonders if Sokka thinks the same way. 

“Yeah, I used to come here all the time with my mother.”

Sokka hums and looks back at the dragons. They stand in silence for a few more minutes, before Zuko walks into the next room to see the other art pieces. It doesn’t escape his notice that Sokka slowly follows him, that within a few minutes of one of them abandoning an exhibit, the other one follows.

There are too many cameras that Sokka couldn’t possibly have shut off for this long, and there’s too big of a risk for them to sit down and talk to each other. Instead, they settle with the comforting sounds of each other’s shoes, of listening to the occasional hum when one of them sees a piece that speaks to them, and once, of the feeling of Zuko’s hand gliding across Sokka’s and he walks by him. He doesn’t get the chance to look back and see Sokka’s face, but he can feel his own heart racing when he feels the warm brush across his knuckles. 

After a few hours, both of them walk out of the museum and walk opposite directions down the street. Zuko’s heart is racing just as much as it was on his first mission, just as much as it was when he went on his first date and had his first kiss. He doesn’t even try and push down the feelings that are bubbling up in his mind. 

Zuko thinks about that as he cooks dinner for himself that night. How standing in silence with another man for hours was the most fun he’s had in ages, how the memory of a momentary brush of hands is enough to make his face flush pink even hours later. Maybe, Zuko considers, just maybe, years of working with detached emotions were getting to him. 

He doesn’t follow that train of thought, though he sticks a pin in it for later. In a few days, he flies out again to gather intel on some diplomat or another, and as he follows the man with a concealed camera, he has to force himself not to let his mind wander to Sokka. 

  
  
  


It gets harder to silence his feelings after spending time with Sokka. Zuko doesn’t know how to handle the new waves of feelings and doubts that wash over him, like he’s a corpse on a beach at high tide. It feels frightening, dishonourable, improper.

It feels fun, new, _exciting._ It’s terrible. It’s nice. 

Zuko makes an effort to keep an eye out for Sokka everywhere he goes. There are only so many cities in the world where conglomerates and politicians and military officials alike flock too. And if he presses his ear a little closer to the ground to listen to the underground gossip about which hotel a certain spy will be staying at, and then putting in a request to stay at the same one for ‘tactical reasons’, well, no one has to know except him. And Sokka. 

They can’t talk, obviously. Zuko knows that he’s being watched almost constantly. His high position only affords him enough freedom that all his movements aren’t examined with a fine-tooth comb, but if he were to stop and chat with someone in a lobby, or if he were to purposefully sit down next to someone at breakfast, well. Someone would notice. Someone would ask a few questions. 

He settles for sideways glances, for slight smiles, for watching a finger tap against a table or a railing in an irregular fashion and for tapping his own finger in reply.

_It’s nice to see you again,_ says the china teacup in Zuko’s hand. _You look good._

_Flatterer,_ the menu across the dining room replies. 

It warms Zuko’s heart, makes it shutter with happiness and fear and something else that he isn’t quite ready to acknowledge. It feels like too much and not enough. He wonders if it’ll ever feel like enough. 

Zuko finds a note in his jacket pocket when he collects it from the coat check. He’s briefly annoyed and alarmed, worrying the piece of paper in his pocket as he walks through the hotel. He doesn’t pull it out until he’s in his room, in a corner that he’s certain hasn't been bugged. He unfolds the paper carefully, fully aware that any dangerous chemical that may be coating it has probably already entered his system through his skin. He curses himself silent before he reads it. 

_Lunch, 3 days from now, 1pm?_

An address is written at the bottom. The scrawl is messy, slanted and jagged, and there’s no signature or name. Zuko knows exactly who it’s from. He puts a call in and says he’ll need a few more days to complete his mission.

Three days later Zuko spends two hours wandering around the city, avoiding cameras, and ducking in and out of buses, taxis, and trains. He double, triple, quadruple checks that he isn’t being tailed - he isn’t sure what would be worse, an enemy spy following him or one that’s supposed to be on his side - before he even starts heading in the general direction of the address Sokka gave him. He hasn’t seen him since he found the note, and he supposes it’s for the best. Zuko wonders if that says something about him, that Sokka didn’t even bother checking to see if Zuko would accept, just assumed he would say yes.

The address brings him to a bistro situated on a lazy side street. There’s no vehicle traffic, only meandering pedestrians and the occasional cyclist pedalling slowly, clearly not in a rush to get to the busier roads. There are no security cameras in sight, and half the stores have plaques in the window that tell everyone that they’re cash only. The bistro has a large patio section and skinny iron tables and chairs. The umbrellas are bleached from the sun and the waiters are chatting with customers in a friendly manner, clearly well acquainted with the regulars. There’s a sign in the window that says, “ _Please seat yourself!”_

For a moment Zuko falters, unsure where to sit; if he should head to the cozy inside, where there’s less of a chance that anyone walking by would see him, or if he should sit outside, where he’s sure that no security camera inside will spot him. As he’s weighing his options he looks across the patio and sees a man pull out a chair and sit down at one of the tables, leaning his head on a hand. His blue shirt is partially hidden in a leather jacket. Zuko looks up and sees beaded braids and a face mostly obscured by sunglasses and a dark hand, propping up a chin. When Zuko meets his gaze behind the tinted lens, the man moves his hand and gives him a lazy, blinding smile. 

Zuko pulls out a chair, three tables away from him, making sure that he has a clear view of Sokka. They look at each other, silent and distant while they both wait for someone to take their orders. Zuko spends more time than he wants to admit taking in the parts of Sokka’s face that he can, eyes darting to the splatter of freckles across his nose, the plushness of his lips, his sharp cheekbones. Zuko is aware of what he looks like to others, he looks like he does that job that he does. But Sokka is so lovely to look at, so pretty, so handsome, so perfect. He looks like he should be worshipped, not working to uphold and topple governments. Sokka is as beautiful as he is talented, and more than anything Zuko wants to stand up and walk over, sit close to him and take him all in. He wants to remove Sokka’s sunglasses and his own and he wants to look him in the eyes. He wants to be close enough that he can feel and touch and _know_.

Instead, Zuko peers at the menu on his table, looking at the different meal options. Most of the food seems to be inspired by Southern Earth Kingdom cuisine, though there seem to be assortments of Water Tribe food throughout. Zuko decides what he wants just as a waiter returns to take his order, putting down a glass of water for him too. Sokka is still talking to his waitress when Zuko’s leaves, and he says something that makes her eyes dart over to Zuko and smile. She nods, turns, and leaves. Sokka grins at Zuko again and taps his fingers against his own water glass. 

A few minutes later, the waitress returns with two glasses. She places a glass of dark pink watermelon wine on Sokka’s table before turning and walking to Zuko, putting the other on his table. She gives him a wink as she does and says, “Compliments of the gentleman at the other table.”

She’s almost giddy as she says it, probably envisioning a romantic future for the both of them, stemming from this one gesture. It almost makes Zuko sad to realize that he’ll never get that. Still, he smiles politely at her, before looking towards Sokka and raising an eyebrow.

_Not very discreet,_ he taps against the new glass. Sokka just smiles wider, raising his glass slightly. Zuko raises his in return before taking a sip. 

They eat their meals silently and decline dessert menus when the waiters offer them. They send each other one last smile before they leave, walking in different directions. 

  
  


A week later, Zuko sends a text on a burner phone that says, “I had a really good time. Are you free in 12 days?”

  
  


Sokka knows he’s getting sloppy, with all his extended missions, and his new habit of not checking in as frequently. His friends are starting to pick up that he’s hiding _something_ , judging by his new caginess when they tease him about being single (“Not everyone can be in an eight-year relation by the age of twenty-six, Katara.”), the fact that he always seems to be glued to a new burner phone every week, and because he’s stopped complaining about travel times. 

He just didn’t think he was getting sloppy enough to warrant Suki showing up to his hotel room, her knock as distinctive as ever (two slow, three fast, then an open-palmed _slap_ to the wood). He still peaks through the eyehole, sees her staring with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow back at him. Sokka swears under his breath and uses the clean edge of his bloodied shirt to unlock the door. He takes a step back for Suki to let herself in.

She does, closing the door and locking it behind her, before peeling off her gloves. She turns to look at Sokka, eyes his slightly torn and bloody undershirt, and the bruising on his arms and chin.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Suki chimes with fake cheeriness. “It looks like you’ve wrapped up business early, that means you can take me out for a night on the town today, then breakfast and shopping tomorrow, and then we can head to HQ in the evening together!”

Suki stares at him, grinning like she knows she won (Because she has). Sokka is almost annoyed at her.

“I can’t,” he says, “Well, I mean, we can hang out tonight, and tomorrow, but, uh, I got some stuff to do before I head back.”

“Well then, I can just tag along.”

Sokka sighs and hangs his head. “No, you can’t.”

“And why not?”

“You know why.” He whines. Suki laughs a little. 

“I want to hear you say it.”

Sokka groans, pulls the collar of his shirt up to cover his face. “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

He can’t see Suki’s face, but he knows she grinning victoriously. She claps her hands together and lets out a, “Ha! I knew it!”

After a few seconds, he pulls his shirt back down, to see Suki going over to sit on the bed.

“Go finish cleaning yourself up, Sokka, and then I’ll grill you.” Sokka nods as he heads to the bathroom and he hears Suki fumbling for the TV remote. He peels off his undershirt before hopping into the shower for a quick rinse, hissing when the steaming water hits his damaged skin. He scrubs until he’s sure that there’s nothing incriminating left on his body and then stands under the spray for a few more minutes, letting the water relax his muscles. He takes a few deep breaths, letting the steam fill his lungs as he prepares himself for the conversation with Suki. She knows that he’s seeing someone, but she clearly doesn’t know _who_ and what his affiliations are. 

Sokka tells himself that she’s figured out this much, he’ll come totally clean to her, even if she might kill him in response. (She would be within her right to kill him, as a fellow spy, and as his ex-girlfriend/best friend.)

He exits the bathroom wearing a fuzzy robe and flops onto the bed next to Suki. She laughs as Sokka wriggles around to get comfortable, and they spend a few minutes watching trashy reruns of reality shows.

“So,” Suki begins, drawing out the ‘o’ sound. Sokka tenses his jaw. “You’re seeing someone.”

“Kind of?” He tries. Suki turns her head and looks at him.

“Care to elaborate, Sokka dear?”

He sighs. He knew that his evasion attempt wouldn’t work. “We… haven’t really talked about it yet.”

She hums. “Okay, and when were you thinking of telling everyone?”

“I wasn’t,” He admits, feeling a stab of guilt when hurt flashes across Suki’s face. “Trust me, you, Katara, everyone… won’t approve.”

“And why’s that?”

“He’s… kinda a spy as well.”

Suki rolls her eyes. “So? We’ve all had our little trysts with fellow spies. Katara had that thing with Haru and Jet when she was training- wait, is it Jet? Sokka, how could you, I thought you had standards!”

Sokka mimes an exaggerated gagging motion before snapping, “It’s not Jet!” 

“Then-”

“It’s not someone you know.”

“What do you mean, I know everyone-” Her eyes narrow. “Why wouldn’t I know him?”

Sokka takes a deep breath. “He’s… not exactly our ally.” Suki is silent so Sokka goes on. “In fact, he’s the exact opposite of our ally.”

“You’re beating around the iceberg, Sokka,” Suki calls him out. “Building the suspense won’t make my reaction better or worse.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Sokka admits. He closes his eyes. “It’s Zuko Sugita.”

Suki is quiet, for long enough that Sokka opens a single eye to look at her. Her eyebrows are furrowed in confusion.

“...Zuko…”

“Yes.”

“Your failed target Zuko.”

“Yes.”

“Was meant to kill you Zuko.”

“Yes.”

“Will probably be ordered again to kill you in the future Zuko.”

“...Yes.”

Suki takes a deep inhale. “You’re right, I don’t approve.” Sokka sighs but Suki goes on. “But, as much as I question this decision, I know that you aren’t stupid, and I know you don’t throw yourself into mindless endeavours.”

Sokka snorts. “Yeah, I hope this isn’t mindless.”

A woman on the television lets out a shriek as someone throws a glass of water on her. Suki lets out a chuckle at the scene. They spend a few minutes watching the drama unfold. 

“Are you safe with him?” She asks, tentatively. 

“Am I safe with anyone?” He looks over at her. “Besides, you know, you and the gang?”

Suki looks down for a moment. “I guess not.”

They watch a few more episodes, Suki calls room service for them, and they eat food so rich that they need to take sips of water in between each bite. Sokka offers to let Suki stay the night, they can share the bed, after all, but she waves him off.

“I have my own hotel room a few blocks over.” She gives him a sly grin. “But I do expect you to take me out for breakfast tomorrow.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “I think I can manage that.”

Before she leaves, Sokka finally says, “I don’t think he would hurt me.” Suki’s head snaps to look at him, eyes wide. “I’m pretty sure he likes me too much to do anything, and he’s had plenty of chances already.”

Something minuscule in Suki’s face shifts. “That doesn’t make me feel any better, Sokka.”

“I know,” he says.

She gives him a tight hug before she leaves his hotel room and an even tighter hug when she says goodbye after breakfast the next morning. Sokka tries and fails to push down his guilt as he hugs back, and again when he gets dressed in his most nondescript clothing for his ‘date’ with Zuko at a cafe the day after.

  
  


The natural progression of their dates is switching from lunch to dinner, a time more typically reserved for romantic outings. Zuko feels only a little bit awkward, sitting in a dark corner of a candlelit restaurant, surrounded by couples so wrapped up in each other, as he sends shy smiles to a man sitting against the opposite wall. Occasionally they’ll go on walks afterwards, always beginning their walks by heading different directions, zig-zagging through the streets and crossing each other at random, walking parallel on different sidewalks to each other. Their movements are similar enough to typical evasive maneuvers that if they pick up any tagalongs, it’ll just look like they’re avoiding typical detection. 

It’s five more months of distanced dinner dates, random texts from burner phones, and the occasional scrambled phone call when Zuko glances up at Sokka across a bar they’ve been sitting at and sees him tapping a finger on his fruity drink.

_Room… 3..5..7_

Zuko raises a shocked eyebrow.

_You sure?_

Sokka gives a nod so small that no one else would notice. 

_Room 357_

Then Sokka downs the rest of his colourful drink, slapping down a couple of bills onto the table, before walking out of the bar. Zuko stays seated, still nursing the gross beer that he ordered for lack of knowledge of what else to get, contemplating. Heading to Sokka’s room is a huge increase in risk. Even if it’s not a setup, being that close to Sokka, in private, is a risk in and of itself. He knows, through rumours and his own research, that Sokka is a formidable and talented fighter in a variety of combat types and forms. 

Zuko knows that he should slam his drink down immediately, walk out of the bar and back to his own hotel room. He should tell someone that he knows what room Sokka is staying in or at the very least _not go_. He should be the spy and Fire Nation subject that he’s supposed to be; show a little will power, backbone, and loyalty. 

Instead, Zuko takes a few more tentative sips of his beer before paying his bill. He walks languidly back to the hotel that he and Sokka are both staying at, taking a meandering route, even when he enters the lobby. He goes to his own room, shutting the door quickly behind him. He goes to the bathroom, cups cool water in his hands as he rinses off the grime that the bar left on his skin. He brushes his teeth and he steadfastly does _not_ look at his own reflection in the mirror - the reflection of a man that’s betraying his country, his job, his family, with his own complacencies and non-action. He lays down on his bed for a few minutes, mind and heart racing, thinking about all the possible outcomes and consequences that he’s going to ignore. 

When Zuko feels enough time has passed - for what, he isn’t sure - he gets up and walks out of his room. The walk to Sokka’s room isn’t long, only a few minutes and a single elevator ride. Zuko stands in front of the door, tentative and unsure, before knocking softly. 

He almost jumps when the door opens - he should have guessed that Sokka would be stealthy when approaching the door - and as soon as the crack is wide enough, Zuko slips inside before he’s even seen Sokka. The door slams shut behind him, locks scrapping closed. For a moment, Zuko feels a wave of panic; his back is turned to a possible assailant in a locked, dimly lit ( _mood lighting?_ Zuko wonders) room. It’s stupid and unprofessional and if Zuko gets killed right now, he would deserve it. 

Zuko turns and when his eyes meet Sokka’s, he can’t help but smile, his previous worries melting away when he sees the grinning face and wavy hair of the man he’s become so enamoured with. 

“Hey,” Sokka says, giddiness seeping through his tone. 

“Hey,” Zuko replies. They stand there, staring at each other for a few seconds, before Sokka takes a step forward, standing so close to Zuko that he can feel the warmth radiating through both of their shirts. 

Slowly, as if he was lining up a shot, Sokka raises his arms and wraps them around Zuko’s back. He pulls Zuko close, resting his head against his shoulders, and just holds him there. Slowly, Zuko raises his own arms until they wrap around Sokka’s firm waist, fighting the urge to push him away. Zuko buries his face in Sokka's neck, feels the softness of his sweater against his scarred face, and closes his eyes. He hears Sokka sighing and can feel him grinning from where his face is pressed against his hair. 

Zuko can’t remember the last time he held, or was held by, someone so close. Sokka’s embrace gets tighter as Zuko relaxes into the hug and instead of feeling scared or worried, Zuko just feels supported, comforted, even cared for. He wants to press into Sokka and never pull away. He wants to feel the warmth and pressure of another body, riddled with scars and muscle and weighed down by terrible things, against him forever. 

Zuko isn’t sure how long they stand there, in the entrance of Sokka’s hotel room - a strategically terrible place to linger - lost in each other’s arms. Long enough that his feet begin to ache in his nondescript sneakers, and his arms start to protest at being held static for so long. He pushes through it until he feels Sokka let out one last pleased sigh and begins to untangle himself from Zuko. 

Once they’re apart they walk further into the room, though Zuko can’t bring himself to remove a hand from Sokka’s arm, can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away to look around the room, even as he kicks his shoes off and lays on the plush mattress next to his paramour. 

Sokka grabs Zuko’s hand and fiddles with his slender fingers. The tv is on but muted, and in his periphery, Zuko can see people run across an elaborate obstacle course as crowds cheer them on. The air conditioner hums and rattles. Sokka clears his throat.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asks, wincing slightly at his clunky delivery. Zuko opens his mouth, and instead of an answer, a laugh tumbles out. 

“How have I been?” he repeats, giggles increasing. Sokka lets out a groan before laughing a little himself. “What kind of question is that?”

“I know! I didn’t know what else to say!” Sokka defends, shoving his face into the overstuffed pillows. Zuko schools his laughter until it subsides and clears his throat.

“I’ve… I’ve been okay. Working, you know.” Sokka peers up from the pillow, strands of hair tousled. Zuko falters slightly at the sight of Sokka looking so calm, so comfortable while looking at him. “... How about you?”

“Pretty much the same.”

They struggle through small talk for a few more minutes, both feeling vulnerable and unsure of how to talk to one another. It doesn’t escape them how this is the longest they’ve ever been around each other, that even with their stilted words and awkward delivery that they were in the midst of the longest conversation they’ve ever had.

Zuko is reminded of being a teenager and desperately trying to talk to Mai, how he tried so hard to talk to her when conversations before they dated, seemed to happen so easily. 

Eventually, he and Sokka stumble upon a comfortable rhythm, both of them ignoring the fact that the other likely already knew most of the personal information that they share. Sokka speaks vaguely of his sister and Zuko nods along as if he hasn’t already read pages of intel about Katara Amarok and her work in field medicine. Zuko would respond by talking about places he visited with his family, lakes that his mother took him to go swimming, as if Sokka hadn’t compiled detailed lists of properties his family owned and the eventual fate of Ursa.

It’s a healthy in-between of impersonal and private, one that both of them found easier to navigate with the looming knowledge that their actions would be considered nigh-treasonous by many of their peers and superiors. Hours pass with Zuko laughing at Sokka’s less-than-stellar jokes, Sokka rolling his eyes at Zuko’s sarcasm and dour terseness, and with them smiling fondly as they both went on long-winded tangents and rambles. 

If Zuko tries hard enough, he can pretend that the distance between their jobs, nations, and fates was as easy to cross as the inches between them in the room. He reaches out, brushes a hand against the rough skin of Sokka’s palm, grinning as he feels the pulse quicken beneath the surface. 

The night was long hung outside the closed curtains of Sokka’s room, the television now playing old reruns to fill in the dead space, and Zuko could feel tiredness clinging to his eyelashes every time he blinked. The duvet covers that he and Sokka were laying on were warm and comforting, sunk in and encasing his body. If there was a risk - and there _was_ a risk - that came with him being in Sokka’s room, the risk of sleeping in it was tenfold. 

Zuko makes a few half-hearted attempts to sit up, but Sokka’s laughter at his bedhead, or a question, or even just a soft look in Sokka’s eyes always made Zuko return. It was stupid, staying long enough that he was beginning to have to stifle yawns behind a hand, but Zuko was realizing, Sokka made him a little bit stupid. Or maybe he always was. 

It’s in the middle of a story that Sokka is telling, about his hometown and snow and fishhooks, that Zuko blinks and finds that his eyelids want to stay closed more than his eyes want to gaze at Sokka some more. In any other situation, Zuko would be concerned that he was poisoned, but he’s too warm, too comfortable, too content to worry about that now. 

Either Sokka didn’t notice Zuko nodding off, or if he did he figured that that was no reason to stop talking. That night, Zuko drifts off to sleep with a deep voice and a fleeting laugh echoing inside his skull. It was a nice way to fall asleep.

  
  


Sokka smiles as he looks at Zuko, his face smooth and calm with sleep, fingers slightly curled into his palms, and hair sprawled against the pillow. Even his scar looks less severe, the muscles under it relaxed. He’s a sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure. Sokka spends a few minutes watching the sleeping form before he stands to try and pull the blanket out from under Zuko without waking him. It takes a few minutes, with Zuko murmuring at the sensation a few times, but eventually, Sokka manages to extract the plush cover from under his body, and carefully drapes it over Zuko’s pale skin. He goes to the washroom and brushes his teeth as quietly as he can, before returning to the bedroom, shucking off his jeans, and crawling under the covers, relishing in the shared warmth once again.

Sokka turns off the lights and the television, the only noise in the room is the hum from the aircon, and the steady breathing of the man next to him. Sokka closes his eyes and pretends that nothing is wrong and nothing is out of place. 

  
  


The next morning Zuko is eased awake by the calm, steady breathing of someone else. He blinks open his eyes, and through the blurriness of sleep, he sees the bronze skin, plush lips, and bushy eyebrows of Sokka. A thin stream of light sneaks through the curtains and lands on Sokka’s hair, illuminating the natural high and lowlights in it.

Zuko doesn’t have to go out to work until the evening, so despite the fact that if his handler tries to check on him he’ll be fucked, despite the need to put drops into his damaged eye, despite the voice in his head screaming that he needs to run or snap Sokka’s neck, Zuko smiles, snuggles closer until his nose is brushing Sokka’s chest, and he closes his eyes. Sleep washes over him like a warm bath and Zuko revels in it. 

  
  
  


Sokka smiles when he looks at himself in the mirror, the warmth of the bed and Zuko long faded and replaced with the warmth of the shower. Sokka feels more well-rested than he has in ages, and he doubts it's because he slept in a bit more than he usually allows himself. He tries his best to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake the half-asleep man that had reached out for him when he tried to extract himself from the bed not twenty minutes early. All sleep drunk and fuzzy, Zuko had let out a whine when Sokka had pulled away, blinking at his strong form and pouting when he said, “I’m just going to shower.”

“Come back soon,” Zuko had mumbled, flopping down onto Sokka’s pillow. He had buried his face into the soft pillow, but Sokka was certain that the tip of his undamaged ear was a bit pinker than usual. 

It almost makes Sokka laugh, remembering it in the steam-filled room. Zuko's reputation as a deadly, precise, unstoppable spy seems so far away from the sleepy lump in Sokka’s bed. 

The thought wipes the smile off of Sokka’s face immediately. 

Zuko is a spy - an enemy spy. And Sokka left him unsupervised in his room. The room that contains his laptop, his cellphone, all his gadgets and files. Not even hidden away, just in his suitcase and backpack that is propped against the wall by the television. Sokka was so entranced in his happy daze, he didn’t consider the fact that he wasn’t listening for movement, and if he was, it would have been dulled by the constant fall of water from the shower. Suddenly the warm humid air feels ice cold as Sokka thinks about the consequences of his oversight. 

He wipes the toothpaste off his mouth with the back of his hand, and as fast as he can on the damp tiles, he runs to the bathroom door, flinging it open, expecting to see Zuko hunched over his laptop, typing away. 

Instead, he sees Zuko sitting against the headboard, still curled beneath the blankets, holding the room service menu. His head shoots up at the commotion, and he gives a little grin to Sokka. 

“I was thinking we could have breakfast?” he asks, voice almost shy. 

Sokka blinks a few times, the dread in his stomach receding. He walks towards the bed and slowly kneels on it. Zuko has to tilt his head up a little to look at Sokka’s face, still damp from steam and glistening. 

Slowly, as if he was back home and lining up a shot to take down a moose, Sokka reaches out towards Zuko’s face, watching as his amber eyes track the hand until it reaches the soft skin of his chin. 

Sokka tilts Zuko’s head up further, the shorter man shuffling against the sheets slightly to rise more, and eyes fluttering shut. Sokka leans down, his own eyes closing, and presses his lips against Zuko’s.

Zuko’s lips are warm and chapped, almost scraping against the soft skin of Sokka’s. He can hear the other man sigh through his nose as he presses himself up against Sokka, hand wrapping around the broad wrist which cups his face. 

It is objectively chaste, a simple press of lips, but it makes Sokka’s heart race as if he was a teen sneaking glances at his crush in school. His face almost feels numb with adrenaline and behind his closed eyes, he thinks he sees fireworks.

Sokka’s sense of time disappears with this proximity to Zuko. When they slowly pull away from each other, both of them blinking their eyes open, he’s unsure if they spent seconds or minutes basking in the intimacy of each other. He leans his forehead against Zuko’s, the tip of their noses brushing against each other. Sokka knows that his own face is hot to the touch and so close to Zuko, he can see the dusting of pink that covers the unblemished side of his face. 

Sokka lets out a deep breath, and Zuko turns his gaze downcast as if he already knows what Sokka is about to say. “We should probably talk about the fact that, at some point, we’ll be asked to kill each other.” 

  
  
  
  


It’s a beautiful night in Ba Sing Se, the sky an inky blanket and the stars like tiny diamonds poking through it. The moon hangs fat and shining, bathing the dark corners of the city in a pale blue glow. The lights on the innermost wall have been set to just a dim yellow glow, just enough light to see - and to illuminate the expensive jewels that all the fatcats of the Earth Kingdom adorn themselves with - but not so bright as to take attention away from the ethereal glow of traditional candles and festivities happening in the streets down below. 

Zuko knows that there are no cameras, even before his eyes dart around to look for any. There are too many politicians that aren’t meant to be speaking to profiteers in one place, too many deals being made in plain, drunken view of everyone. 

Zuko walks in the periphery of the festivities, hugging the wall and side-stepping nobles who are cheating on their spouses. He doesn’t care about whatever holiday all these people are using as an excuse to get drunk. He’s only here to finish a mission that’s been left incomplete for too long. 

Zuko smoothes down the front of his embroidered green robes as he manages to free himself from the tangle of people enjoying the indoor, roofed section of the Wall, used to host elaborate parties for those who can afford to attend - or who are skilled enough to sneak in. The ceiling disappears, as does the top half of the wall, allowing for the noise from the streets below to carry up through the balconies as people get excited about the upcoming fireworks. A breeze rushes to greet him, blowing some of his hair off his face, no doubt tangling some of the longer strands. Zuko frowns, hand reaching up to check if his top-knot has come undone, before tossing the rest of his hair over his shoulder, enjoying the silky feeling as it passes through his fingers. It’s getting long now, Zuko thinks absently, and he’s ignored the sly suggestions and comments from Azula and his father to cut it for tactical reasons. They haven’t outright ordered him to chop it off yet, so Zuko will take what he can get. 

There is a lone figure leaning against a balcony, his shoulders broad, his hair hanging to his shoulders, small beads glittering in the moonlight. Zuko stealthily approaches, the din of the party falling away with each step. All he would need to do is get right behind him, could snap his neck or stab him in the back, or maybe just push him over the edge if he was feeling like gambling with the outcome. It would be quick, it would be proper, and he could leave before any of the drunk idiots laughing behind him could notice. Zuko reaches the railing and stands several feet away from the man. Out of the corner of his right eye, he can see him glancing over at him. 

“Pretty night,” Sokka says as a greeting. “Moon is full.”

“Yeah… bright,” Zuko replies, awkwardly. Sokka lets out a soft laugh. Zuko ducks his head down slightly. He hears Sokka fumbling around in his pocket, pulling out a small leather pouch, and placing it on the flat, stone railing. With a flick of his wrist, Sokka sends the pouch towards Zuko, the leather making a scraping noise as it slides across the stone. Zuko is glad he stood to Sokka’s left, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to hear or spot it as it slides over, but as it is, he swiftly catches the bag in his right hand without so much as looking down. He raises an eyebrow at Sokka, careful not to look over at him to ask _what is this?_

Below, he hears people shouting, hears the boom of gunpowder igniting, and then the sky is ablaze in sparkling green light. There’s cheers and applause at the display, and another cannon sounds and the sky is painted in a glorious rainbow of colours. 

Zuko looks down at the pouch in his hand, his slim fingers loosening the drawstring and fishing out the contents, and gasps at what he sees. A shining stone hung from a strip of darkly dyed leather. In the newly purple radiance of fireworks, Zuko could see that the stone was a deep blue, almost black, and it was adorned with delicate carvings of sparks surrounding a sword. Zuko tears his gaze away to look at Sokka - a dangerous move, he knows, but he couldn’t help himself - and meets Sokka’s gaze. He was smiling, but there was anxiety swimming in his dark eyes. Zuko knows what the necklace means, and Sokka knows that Zuko knows. Even without all the files that he’s collected about Sokka over the years and history classes that he slept through in high school, he would know from Katara.

Their meeting was unconventional, with Zuko sitting at a patio cafe across the street from the bistro that Katara and Sokka sat, only able to give a small wave to her before they switched to a burner phone. Katara had been critical of him, could trust him just about as far as she could throw him (or maybe less than that), and it took many more of those distanced meetings before Katara gave her approval - something that was oh so important to Sokka. She was wearing the necklace that her mother gave to her for the first few meetings, and then it changed to a new one, the stone a little brighter, the leather choker a little less worn. Zuko found out that she was getting married to her partner Aang, and that he had carved the stone that she now wore. All three of them had been quite disappointed and upset when Zuko couldn’t attend the wedding, but all of them knew that it would have put all of them in too much danger. 

Zuko knows that the necklace is a risk of the highest magnitude, for both of them. Zuko’s status as a spy - the status being _LIVING_ and not _TERMINATED_ \- is already in question. Too many failed missions, too much arguing, too many enemies conveniently changing plans at the very last second, ending missions before they even began. Too much doubt in the eyes of Zuko’s superior about his loyalties. A necklace like this is like taping a bullseye on his forehead. And for Sokka, his reputation will suffer, no matter how they turn out. In the pit of his stomach, Zuko feels guilty that he’s robbed Sokka of the romantic life that he envisioned for himself, the life he deserved. 

Zuko hasn’t even met Sokka’s parents yet, for spirit's sake, hasn’t gone hunting with Hakoda or tried to carve bone with Bato. He hasn’t been able to ask for their blessing in his and Sokka’s relationship, and even if he could, he isn’t sure that they would say yes. Sokka speaks of his dad and step-father with so much love in his voice and eyes, and while it’s clear that he respects them, and they he, Zuko isn’t sure that any parent would be thrilled to welcome him into their family. (Spirits, did Sokka even tell his family that he was proposing, Zuko wonders, heartbeat in his ears. Sokka loves his family so much, loves his culture so much, Zuko doesn’t know if he could stand being a wedge that divides his beloved from the few things that bring him joy and stability.)

The cacophony of worry in his head abruptly silences itself, when Zuko blinks and takes another look at Sokka’s hopeful face. Zuko realizes that they’re both terrified of hearing Zuko’s answer.

Laughter bubbles out of Zuko’s throat without his permission, a grin breaks out over his face before he’s able to school his expression back to one of neutrality. He’s pretty sure that no one is watching them though, too focused on the blinding explosions happening in the sky above. Unable to keep the grin fully off his face, Zuko brings trembling hands to his throat, working the clasp on the leather until the stone sits comfortably between his collarbones. 

Sokka beams with joy, smiling so wide that for a moment Zuko thinks his face will split. An especially loud crash from fireworks startles both of them, tearing their gazes away from each other to look at the tie-dyed sky, and Sokka uses the distraction to reign in his emotions. They look at each other once again, and Zuko moves to take a step away, to slip through the crowds again, back to his hotel room, to call in a failed mission once again. But then he pauses, his head tilting to the side and hand reaching up to find his chin, earning a questioning look from Sokka. For a moment, Zuko stands still, goes over his options; this ‘failure’ will earn him more scrutiny than his previous ones, he knows, and he doubts that his new wedding gift _(!)_ will be overlooked. If he goes back home, he’ll be on the run soon enough. 

Sokka smiles when Zuko takes a step towards him and gently grabs his hand. When Sokka makes no moves to pull away - Zuko should have guessed that Sokka would know every choice that he was going to make this evening - Zuko tentatively places his head on Sokka’s shoulder, letting out a groan as Sokka coos at him.

They watch the end of the firework show and for the first time, they walk out of a building hand in hand. 

  
  
  
  


Zuko is pacing. If Sokka were here, he would probably make fun of him and would tell him that he’s going to make himself dizzy with all his walking back and forth. That is unless Sokka is pacing as well. Strictly speaking, he and Sokka shouldn’t be waiting in separate rooms right now, but Sokka wanted to speak to his family for a little while longer, and Zuko had no complaints. Zuko left Sokka to laugh and joke with Katara, to show off the carved abalone shell necklace that Zuko made for him to Bato and Hakoda; privately, Zuko was grateful that Sokka seemed to brag about the necklace to anyone who would listen. He hopes it’ll help his chances to get Bato and Hakoda to like him more, consider how little time he’s been able to spend with them, between clearing out all his safe houses and avoiding assassination attempts. 

While Sokka spent more time with his family, Zuko went to place their offerings on the Agni shrine, reciting the steps he had to follow his head, trying to remember when he needed to clap, when to place the fire lilies on the base, and what prayers he needed to repeat to get Agni to give his blessing. Sokka had told Zuko, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t going to partake in prayer. 

“We don’t worship Agni,” Sokka had said, and Zuko knew who ‘we’ were. Zuko hadn’t argued, knowing that it would be hypocritical to complain about Sokka not partaking in all of his culture’s traditions when they had pretty much ignored all of Sokka’s to be together. Zuko isn’t upset with Sokka, but now that he was alone in front of an Agni’s altar, the nervousness that had been kept at a low simmer when he was with Sokka grew until it thrummed beneath his skin. 

_What are we doing?_ Zuko thinks, hands gripping the vibrant red fabric of his kimono. Upon noticing what he’s doing, Zuko forces himself to unclench his hands, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of the silk. It’s crazy for him and Sokka to get married. Zuko is happy to give up his life of espionage, is better off for it, and probably would be much happier if he had given it up years ago. But what if Sokka isn’t happy to give it up like he says he is? What if Sokka ceases going on missions and is bored? What if the only reason why he and Zuko work well together is because of the danger they’re in, because it’s a forbidden pleasure that they both want to partake in? What will happen when they’re both just… normal people, with jobs that don’t involve deceit or assault?

Spirits, Zuko would rather go on a thousand deadly missions than go through with what he and Sokka are about to do.

But before that thought can go any further, he hears a throat clear and he turns to see Mai. Her robes are a deep burgundy, her hair done in her usual half up, half down manner, but Zuko can see that instead of the usual clips and ties that keep it up, she’s switched them out for gold hairpieces and shining gems. Zuko smiles, seeing the effort she’s made. 

“Almost time,” she drawls, stepping towards him. She wrinkles her nose. “You’re sweating.”

“I’m nervous.” His tone is almost rude but it makes Mai roll her eyes, and instead of replying with a snap, she pulls out a handkerchief from one of her voluminous sleeves and shoves it into his hand. Zuko takes it gratefully, beginning to dab his face as Mai loops an arm around his own and leads him, rather forcefully, to the small crowd that makes up the wedding party. For a second, Zuko glances over at Mai’s smooth face. Anyone else might say she looks bored, perhaps even upset, but Zuko can see the glimmer in her eyes and the small twitch of her lip and knows that she’s happy for him, maybe even excited to be attending his wedding. 

Zuko thinks back, many years ago now, when they were barely adults, speaking of their future wedding - both of them half knowing it wouldn’t happen. Of course, that was before they were both made to choose between being spies and alive or being together and terminated. 

They had chosen to be spies and to be alive apart. And now here Zuko was, faced with the same options and making a different choice, with Mai happy by his side. 

“I’m really glad you’re here, Mai,” Zuko chokes out, unable to hide his fondness. She glances over and lets out an unfiltered smile. 

“Me too, Zuko.” She puts her free hand on his arm and gives a slight squeeze. “I’m happy. For you.”

Zuko knows that those are two separate statements. He knows that what he said was two separate statements as well. They finally arrive at the same crowd of people waiting for Zuko, and he sees Hakoda, Bato, and Katara all fanning themselves in the Ember Island heat. He smiles at them politely before his eyes land on Sokka, and his smile grows wider. 

Sokka’s robes are a modified version of the robes he would be wearing to a traditional southern wedding. Instead of thickly insulated and multi-layered blue leathers and furs, his robe and pants are of a thinner cotton and linen. Strips of leather and fur are strictly for aesthetic purposes, and small, stitched on stones and metal glitter with his every movement. The necklace that Zuko spent weeks carving in secret - even though Sokka told him that he didn’t _have_ to (Zuko knew Sokka wanted his own betrothal necklace, and his ecstatic reaction only proved his suspicion) - was in stark contrast with Sokka’s dark skin, and Zuko thought that the contrast made both of them prettier. 

Sokka smiles as he sees Zuko approach, turning his head, his braids and beads shifting as he did so, to look at him. Mai gracefully untangles her arm for Zuko so that Sokka’s can replace it. Pressed against his side, Zuko leans up so that Sokka can press a kiss against his nose.

“Oh, you two are just so cute!” Ty Lee cooes, clapping her hands, making Sokka blush. Her own robes are light pink, and the headdress she’s wearing is gold and bejewelled. Faintly, Zuko wonders where she could have possibly got it. “Are we ready to go?” 

Sokka and Zuko both nod, and Ty Lee clears her throat, turning to face away as she begins the procession. The walk is short and unlike any of the weddings that Zuko attended in his youth. There is no traditional music playing, there is no long line extending as far as the eye can see behind the two of them, there is no crowd watching them walk by, letting out polite applause and bows and smiles at the soon-to-be-married couple. Ty Lee isn’t even a spiritual priest or shrine maiden, she’s just the most spiritual person that Zuko knows and jumped at the chance to be involved in the wedding of one of her oldest friends.

Instead, they’re on one of the most secluded edges of the island, at a shrine that is seldom used, with only Sokka’s close family, Zuko’s two friends, and his uncle, who is doing a poor job at hiding his tears every time he looks at his nephew. The walk to the shrine is short, much shorter than traditional, and Zuko has to tug Sokka to the side so that their families can enter first. Sokka grins shakily at Zuko when he realizes what his mistake was, and it calms Zuko, to see his fiance is just as nervous as he is. A breeze comes in from the nearby ocean, rippling through the open, stone canopy, and Zuko can hear waves crashing against the cliff not far below. 

When they kneel in the center of the altar, Zuko can tell that Ty Lee is having a bit too much fun with her role of officiant. She grins widely as she speaks with a dramatic, booming voice that makes Sokka’s family laugh. Zuko supposes this must be very different compared to their own, less ostentatious, traditional ceremonies. 

The three of them go through the motions; thanking each other’s families and reciting small vows (Zuko occasionally having to elbow Sokka when it’s his turn or mouthing the words if he forgets). Finally, Ty Lee picks up three shallow cups and a bottle of sake that she places in the altar earlier, pouring a set amount of alcohol into each cup. 

Zuko’s hands are trembling when he’s given the first cup and brings it to his mouth. He takes a small sip, the burn familiar on his tongue, before taking it away from his lips and shuffling over to where Hakoda and Bato sit on the side of the altar. Zuko holds the cup to Hakoda first, bowing his head when the older man takes the cup from his hands. Hakoda takes a sip, grimacing at the taste, before passing it to Bato, who frowns similarly. 

He and Sokka have deviated from tradition so much that he doesn’t protest when Bato then hands the cup to Katara, whose lack of reaction at the alcohol makes her fathers raise an eyebrow. Aang nearly gags when he takes his tentative drink and passes it to Suki. She holds the cup for a moment, studying the minuscule last sip, eyes glancing at Zuko. He raises his head slightly to look at her, brushing his hair from his eyes. She looks over his shoulder at Sokka, who gives her a small smile and a nod. She takes the very last sip, lips only puckering slightly, before handing it back to Zuko. He doesn’t know if Sokka’s family realizes why he’s smiling so wide, but he certainly won’t be the one to tell them. 

He watches as Sokka goes through the same routine, him taking a sip of sake before going over to Iroh, who places a fond hand on Sokka’s shoulder after he takes a sip. Mai scrunches her nose when Iroh offers the cup to her, and Zuko knows that Iroh knows the implications of that and it warms his heart.

“Ew,” Mai says, though the tips of her ears are turning pink. “I’m not drinking backwash.”

Iroh shrugs and hands the cup back to Sokka, who places the half-empty vessel on the stone altar by Ty Lee. 

Ty Lee holds the last cup up. “Once both of you have shared this drink of sacred sake, you will be bound together. May Agni smile upon you, blessing your union, and your newly combined family.”

She passes the cup to Zuko, meeting his eyes and giving him a smaller, less dramatic and more loving smile than previously. 

He takes a sip, larger than he had previously, before turning to face Sokka. He holds the cup out to him, and Sokka wraps his warm hands around Zuko’s, just holding them for a moment. The breeze from the sea is cool against their necks, wicking away the heat from their bodies. Sokka leans over and presses a kiss against the crown of Zuko’s head before extracting the cup from his hands. 

Sokka drinks the remainder of the sake, eyebrows furrowing at the taste. Already the tip of his nose is a little pinker from the alcohol. They spend a moment basking in each other’s sight, barely listening as Ty Lee begins the very last prayer of thanks to Agni to complete their wedding. 

They don’t miss the sounds of rustles in distant fields, the noise of a vehicle starting, even though there are no real roads for kilometres, or the sound of tactical gear clanging as spies and soldiers alike begin to move in on them. Zuko and Sokka both frown. This was expected but they still hoped that it wouldn’t happen. They knew that Zuko already had a price on his head - one doesn’t just leave the espionage business the way that Zuko did without any consequences after all - and the fact that Sokka was marrying a ‘former enemy’ meant that some previously friendly faces took poorly to him now. More than anything, nearly everyone in the game knew about both their reputations; if they were each a force to be reckoned with individually, then they would be nigh unbeatable when together. That was a risk few organizations or freelancers were willing to take. 

Mai and Suki are both on their feet the fastest, Mai unsheathing a knife that she pulled out of… somewhere, as Suki gets into a fighting stance, eyes narrowing in concentration. 

Ty Lee falters in her prayer as figures appear in that not-too-far distance, approaching with a speed that points to them thinking that they still have the advantage. Mai is quick to aim and throw about a half dozen knives, taking out as many approaching people. Everyone else begins to rise, each preparing for a quick but dangerous fight.

“Ty Lee,” Zuko snaps, seeing her similarly getting into a defensive stance. She looks down at him, and then her hands, as if not even noticing she was preparing to fight. “Finish the prayers.”

She clears her throat and smiles. “Right, sorry, Zuko!” And continues from where she trailed off, though her stance does not change. She gets to the very end, giving one last praise to Agni, one last plea that he blesses her friend’s marriage, and one more thanks, when she looks up and shoves Zuko and Sokka to the ground, herself rolling across the stone floor as she avoids a beanbag. The shot hits one of the stone pillars, cracking the stone, before falling uselessly onto the ground. Ty Lee frowns.

“Hey, Agni, I swear these guys aren’t with us.” 

Zuko climbs up from the floor, ignoring the ache in his side from Ty Lee’s shove, hands instantly going to Sokka to help him up. They crowd against each other, both reaching to pull their own weapons out from where they’ve stashed them in their clothes when Zuko feels a large hand clap him on the shoulder. 

“We’ll take it from here, son,” Hakoda says, smiling at Sokka and then at Zuko. 

“Yeah, get outta here, you crazy kids,” Katara chimes in, laughing at the glare Sokka sends her. It takes a few seconds, with shots increasingly getting thrown at them before Sokka nods and lets Bato push him towards the wall-less rear of the shrine, holding Zuko’s hand as he walks towards the edge of the cliff. 

A loud crash reverberates through the arm, shaking the earth below them, and Sokka and Zuko quicken their pace to a run. Zuko can only vaguely hear Ty Lee yell, “Congratulations, you guys! Have a nice honeymoon!” before she runs off to get right in the middle of the tussle. 

He and Sokka sprint towards the cliffside, skidding to a halt before they reach the very edge. They peer over the steep edge at the water below. It’s only about a three-story drop, and Zuko knows that the water below is deep enough to be safe, with few enough rocks that there’s little danger. Doesn’t make what they’re about to do any less scary. 

Sokka and Zuko look at each other for a moment, both of them clearly about to try and find another way to get down, when a shot that nearly gazes Zuko’s side interrupts them.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Suki yells after them, a strain evident in her voice. “Get going, idiots!”

Whether it was the insult or the implied permission, that’s all that Sokka and Zuko need. Sokka reaches out to grab Zuko’s wrist, both of them immediately taking the plunge. The fabric from his kimono flaps around Zuko’s face, but only for a moment before he finds himself entombed in the chilly water. He feels the weight of all his layers, but his legs are strong enough to kick to the surface, gasping as he breaks through. Saltwater and his hair force his eyes shut.

“Sokka?” Zuko calls out, trying to clear his vision. He can hear yelling and fighting on the cliff up above. “Sokka?”

“Over here!” Sokka calls. It takes Zuko a second to orient where Sokka’s voice is coming from and swims blindly in that direction. He finally blinks his eyes open and sees that Sokka is making his way to the speed boat hidden against the face of the cliff. Sokka climbs aboard, holding a hand out to heave Zuko and his many layers of ruined silk onto the deck. They take a second, panting from exhilaration before they make quick work of the knots that keep the boat stationary. 

“I wanna drive,” Zuko says, once they push the boat away from the wall. 

“No, I’m driving,” Sokka rebuffs, throwing himself into the driver’s seat. They glare at each other for a moment, before Zuko rolls his eyes. 

“Fine, but next time I’m driving.” He huffs and throws himself into the passenger seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Sokka starts the boat, and they zip away from the chaos above. With any luck, their friends are keeping everyone occupied enough that no one will even notice they’re gone.

“Next time? You planning on marrying anyone else?”

Zuko snorts and lols his head to the left to look at Sokka. “Nah,” he says, “I think this once will be enough for me.”

Sokka takes his eyes off the sea and shoots him a bashful smile.

“I still wanna drive though.”  
  
  


Zuko sighs as he hears the creaking of springs from inside his daughter’s bedroom. He opens the door to see exactly what he expected: his daughter is jumping on the bed, lights still on.

“Izumi Katara Amarok, you know it’s past your bedtime,” he chides, though his tone is playful. Izumi makes one last jump before flopping down on her bed. She smiles as he walks into her room, pulling the covers out from under her and smoothing them over her. 

She giggles as he leans over to place a kiss on her forehead. “Ew, daddy!” She whines, and Zuko feels his heart clench when he remembers that his baby is getting to the age where she doesn’t especially like it when her fathers kiss her. It seems like only yesterday he and Sokka were pressing a thousand kisses to the chubby cheeks of their toddler. 

She peers up at Zuko, her eyes thin like his own but dark like Sokka’s. 

“Sorry, princess,” Zuko says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ears. She relaxes into her pillow under his gentle touch. “Did you brush your teeth?”

She nods. “Yup!”

“Good,” He says, stepping another moment caressing his daughter. He lets out a content sigh, before slowly pulling his hand away from her. “Well, goodnight then.”

“What about a story?” She begs, her little hands darting out to grasp Zuko’s sleeve. He raises an eyebrow.

“A story? Isn’t that your _ataata_ ’s job?” Zuko asks. Storytelling isn’t his strong suit; he’s received enough complaints from his daughter, nephew, and brother and sister-in-law for him to trust that fact. 

“What’s my job?” Sokka asks, appearing in the doorway as if he was summoned. 

“Storytime!” Izumi says, already shifting under her covers to make room for Sokka to sit on her bed. Zuko smiles. Izumi has both of them wrapped around her finger and she knows it.

Sokka smiles as he sits down next to Zuko, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth and earning another “eww!” from Izumi. Sokka scooches on the end of Izumi’s bed until he’s sitting cross-legged and looking at her, as Zuko twists his body so that he can look at his husband and daughter at the same time. At the thought of it, he becomes more aware of the warm stone pressed against his chest, under his shirt. He smiles again. 

It feels like he’s barely stopped smiling in nine years. 

“Looks like we’ll have an audience for tonight’s storytime,” Sokka stage whispers to Izumi, nodding his head towards Zuko. Izumi giggles and sits up against her pillow more. “So what’s on the agenda tonight, kiddo? The frog and the scorpion? Wan-Shi-Tong and his library? The ocean and moon spirit? The time that your uncle Aang made me suck on a toad because he said it would cure my fever?”

Izumi giggles again and shakes her head. “The two spies who fell in love!” She demands. Sokka stills for a moment, before running a hand through his greying hair, pulling some of it out of its wolf tail. 

“Hm, wow. Haven’t told that one in a while.” Zuko places a hand on Sokka’s knee and squeezes. “You probably know that one better than me.”

“Please,” Izumi begs, leaning forward to plead. Sokka looks over at Zuko, who shrugs, leaning closer to him to get comfy. 

“Okay,” Sokka agrees. “Tonight, for your entertainment: The Two Spies Who Fell In Love.”

Izumi gives a little clap and leans back onto her pillow. Zuko leans his head on Sokka’s shoulder as he begins to tell the story that feels so far away and yet too close for comfort. 

Their daughter gasps and giggles at the appropriate places and Zuko finds himself doing the same, the characters feeling like different people than they are now. Izumi doesn’t know about all the weapons hidden throughout the house, doesn’t know why both her parents refuse to travel anywhere close to where Zuko grew up, even though he speaks of the city and museums and beaches often. Izumi thinks that both of them are a bit boring. Maybe they are now. It’s a feat that Zuko never thought they would accomplish.

Sokka finishes his story and Izumi yawns. “And they all lived happily ever after?” she asks.

Sokka glances at Zuko, and the crow's feet around his eyes crinkle a bit as he smiles. “Yeah, they did.” 

Izumi smiles and doesn’t whine when Sokka and Zuko both lean down to kiss her hair, and her eyes are already closed by the time Zuko switches off her light and when he reaches her door, he and Sokka spend a moment to look at each other and at their snoozing daughter. 

“Happily ever after, huh?” He teases Sokka later in bed. Sokka opens one eye to look at him.

“Do you disagree?”

Zuko purses his lips for a moment, tilting his head teasingly. Sokka grumbles from where his head is pressed against Zuko’s chest.

“No,” Zuko finally says, relenting his teasing. “I think I agree pretty wholeheartedly.”

“You better,” Sokka says sleepily. Within a few minutes his breathing evens out and Zuko can tell he’s asleep in his hold. The moon shines bright in their window, the breeze from the ocean making their curtains dance, and despite the ever-present dangers that he knows will follow them forever from their pasts, Zuko feels safe.

_Yeah, I think I do agree with Sokka’s story,_ Zuko thinks as he drifts off the sleep, surrounded by love that he never thought he would obtain. 

**Author's Note:**

> congrats on reading a spy kids au  
> -the wedding that they have is based on a traditional shinto wedding  
> -Ataata is the Inuktitut word for father/dad (according to what i found online)  
> \- also zuko is trans and izumi is his and sokka's bio daughter because I Said So
> 
> my tumblr is @shortkingzuko if you got any questions or concerns or just wanna see what memes i post !!


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